by Amy Cross
“How're you doing, Chloe?” he continued. “How's life in Paris treating you?”
“I thought you'd gone back to London,” I told him, resisting the urge to get up and walk away. “Have you been here for the past week?”
“I found a cheap little hotel,” he said with a nervous smile. His right leg was shuddering, as if he was worried about something. “Of course, cheap still costs money, so I was thinking that maybe I could just crash on your sofa.”
“No way!”
“Come on.” He reached out to touch the side of my face, but I pushed his hand away. “Chloe, seriously,” he continued, “be reasonable. I came to Paris for you, to win you back. The least you can do is let me stay with you. Who knows, maybe a little proximity'll help us get the flame burning again. Isn't it worth trying to save what we had?”
“I don't want to get anything burning again,” I told him, still shocked that he'd shown up in the first place. Pausing for a moment, I realized he was more than nervous, he was terrified. “What's really going on?” I asked. “Are you in trouble again?”
“Chloe...”
“That's it, isn't it?” I continued, slowly starting to see the truth. “You didn't come to Paris to get back with me. You're hiding from someone.”
He sighed. “Don't be paranoid.”
“I don't want to see you again,” I told him, getting to my feet as I saw my train approaching in the distance. “Keep away from me, okay? Go back to London, and to whatever or whoever you're running from.” I paused as the train rattled into the station. “Take it from me, running never solves anything. I'm sure you'll be fine if you just face your problems head-on.”
“You're running from your problems,” he said with a self-satisfied grin.
“And look how that's working out,” I replied. “You still keep showing up.”
Turning, I made my way toward the carriage. To my relief, I saw a couple of ticket inspectors standing next to the seats.
“Chloe, wait!” Jackson hissed, hurrying after me.
“Got a ticket?” I asked, turning to him once I was on the train.
He stopped outside the carriage, and as he glanced at the inspectors I could tell he'd been planning to ride for free.
“Go home,” I told him firmly. “Go back to London, and leave me alone.”
Before he could reply, the doors slid shut and I felt a rush of relief. The train began to pull out of the station, and I watched as Jackson stood staring at me in disbelief. After a couple of seconds, however, I noticed something more alarming. My bag was still on the bench behind him, with my purse inside. And my travel card.
Slowly, I turned as the ticket inspectors came toward me.
***
“Two hundred euros,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way into the apartment building, still fuming about the fine I'd been given. “Two hundred euros.”
Sighing, I tried the elevator but quickly found that it was still out of order. I took a deep breath, looking over at the stairs and contemplating the long trek up, and then I realized that once I got home I'd have to start ringing around to cancel my cards and start replacing everything I'd lost in my purse. For a moment, the sheer weight of it all just seemed to collapse on my shoulders and I leaned back against the wall.
“Come home,” I remembered my mother telling me on the phone a few days earlier. “Chloe, I don't know what you're trying to prove, but come back to London. You don't belong in Paris.”
I allowed myself to contemplate the possibility, before realizing that there was no way I intended to surrender. I'd moved to Paris because I wanted to see the world, and I figured I wasn't going to let a rough start put me off. As I started to climb the stairs, however, I couldn't help wondering whether it'd be totally inappropriate to see if Matthias wanted to grab another coffee. I hadn't seen him since that night at the cafe, and I'd started to wonder whether he was still in Paris at all. I'd felt a little calmer with him, and I wanted to feel calm again. Reaching the second floor, I realized that at least the constant trek up and down the stairs was starting to make me fitter, so I kept going rather than taking my usual rest.
By the time I reached the seventh floor, I was out of breath and my legs were aching. Taking my keys from my pocket, I was about to unlock my door when I glanced at the other door and realized that maybe I should take the initiative. Wandering over, I knock and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And then I knocked again.
“Hello?” I said cautiously. “It's Chloe from next door, I just wondered if...”
I paused, feeling as if I should just give up.
“I just wondered whether Matthias is around,” I added.
Silence.
In fact, I was starting to realize that I hadn't heard any sign of life from the apartment at all over the past week. In my mind's eye, I imagined the old man still sitting all alone, and I realized that I really didn't want to disturb him.
“No?” I said finally, stepping back. “Okay. I guess I understand. Sorry to disturb you.”
Sighing, I made my way across the hallway and unlocked my door. Once I was inside and safe from the rest of the world, I took another deep breath and tried to get my thoughts together. After a few seconds, however, I glanced through at the front room and saw that the curtains were drawn, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. I distinctly remembered looking out the window while I was grabbing breakfast earlier, so as I made my way to the doorway and looked through, I was starting to wonder how the curtains had suddenly been pulled back across.
The landlord.
The landlord must have entered and drawn the curtains.
Why would he do that?
I paused, feeling a slow, creeping sense of fear in my gut.
I don't know how, but deep down I was suddenly aware that I wasn't alone. I waited, hoping the sensation would fade, but if anything it was getting stronger. I stepped over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife, before turning and looking across the room.
Darkness.
Silence.
But I still felt that presence, as if the shadows themselves were watching me.
And then a faint click from somewhere else in the apartment.
With the knife in my trembling right hand, I began to make my way toward the front door. I had no intention of confronting the intruder. Instead, I figured I'd just get the hell out and call the police. I tried telling myself that the most likely intruder was Jackson, and that for all his faults he at least wasn't dangerous. At the same time, I was fairly sure that Jackson wouldn't have resorted to breaking in. I kept my eyes fixed on the room, in case someone suddenly jumped out at me, and then I turned toward the front door.
As soon as I saw the figure next to me, I froze.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said, sounding a little weak, almost pained. A moment later, Belinda stepped out of the shadows. “I guess I'm probably the last person you were expecting to see right now.”
Chapter Twelve
Matthias
“Where are you, Hugo?” I whispered, as I stood alone in the darkened room, searching for my brother's presence. “Why are you hiding yourself from me? I know you're close. Why not face me now and get this over with?”
I waited, but I heard no reply. In truth, I had no idea whether he could even hear me. I knew he was somewhere in the city, that he'd finally returned after years of running and hiding. At the same time, I could not be sure that he dared make himself heard, for I was sure he feared me. He had to be hiding somewhere, waiting for the pieces of his traps to come together.
“You still have time to call this off,” I said out loud, in the vain hope that he could somehow hear me. “Despite your madness, you are still my brother. And I'm begging you to end this cruelty before it's too late.”
If he heard me, he remained silent. In truth, deep down, I already knew that there was only one way to stop him. And that was by force.
Chapter Thirteen
>
Chloe
“Don't open the curtains!” Belinda hissed, grabbing my arm. “Whatever you do, don't open the curtains!”
Turning, I saw her terrified, startled face staring back at me. She was gripping my arm so tight, it was almost as if she was in a state of panic.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, still not convinced that she was real. “You're dead! Everyone thinks you're dead!”
“Wait,” she continued breathlessly. “Just calm down and listen to me, Chloe.”
“What happened?” I whispered, before looking at her hand she continued to grip my arm. Her touch felt real, which made it hard to explain the whole thing away as some kind of hallucination. Still, I was starting to think that maybe I'd lost my mind and finally cracked. “You're dead,” I said again. “The police came and interviewed us at the office!”
“Chloe -”
“I blamed myself!” I added, reaching out and hugging her tight. “I blamed -”
Before I could finish, I realized her flesh felt cold. Pulling back, I tried to get a better look at her face, but the room was too dark to see her properly.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “They found a body in an alley! They said it was you! If it wasn't, then who was it?”
“Can you just cut out all the questions for a moment?” she replied. “Chloe, please, there isn't much time and I have to tell you something important.”
“We need to go to the police,” I replied, “and then let everyone know you're okay! Belinda, I talked to your parents on the phone last week! They were making plans to have your body taken back to England!”
“Chloe...”
“We gave your job away! That woman in HR's going to hate this!”
She rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” I added, heading back over to the hallway, “we have to -”
“Will you just listen to me for a moment?” she hissed, pulling me back. “Chloe, this is really important! He's coming for you, and he's mad, real mad, and the only way you can save yourself is to give him what he wants!”
“Belinda, I...” Staring at her, I realized there was fear in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “Who's coming for me?”
“Who do you think? The same guy who did this to me!”
“Did what to you?” I asked. I was starting to think that maybe I wasn't the only one who'd lost my mind. Belinda seemed way more intense than before, and her hair was a frazzled, matted mess. Bad hair alone was more than enough to let me see that she wasn't her usual self. Before I could say anything else, however, I spotted two thick, dark scabs on the side of her neck, just below her left ear. Belinda had always been immaculately dressed, but in that moment she seemed strangely rough-and-ready. “Belinda, what -”
“There's no time to go into it all,” she replied, her voice filled with a sense of urgency. “He sent me to find you, Chloe. He's mad, really mad, but he wanted to give you one final chance to make things right.”
Staring at her, I saw the fear in her eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I asked finally. “Belinda, you're not making any sense!”
“He says you still have it,” she continued, grabbing my arms and holding me tight. “He says if you give it to him, he'll leave you alone. I don't know what he means, Chloe, but he's really, really angry at you and he's convinced you've got something of his. Please, just give it up before it's too late!”
“I don't know what you're on about,” I continued, pulling free of her grip. “Let's just sit down and we can try to work out what the -”
Suddenly I heard a loud banging sound on my front door.
“That's him,” Belinda said, turning to look. “He's here.”
“Who's here?” I asked, not daring to move. After a moment, an idea came to me. “Do you mean Jackson? Belinda, has my ex been talking to you and -”
Before I could finish, I heard the banging sound again.
“You should probably answer that,” Belinda said, stepping behind me as if she was seeking protection. “Chloe, he won't leave without getting what he wants. I've seen him, I've seen what he's like when he's angry. He's the one who did this to me!”
“Did what to you?” I asked, turning to her. After a moment, however, I looked at the scabs on her neck and realized that they looked almost like a pair of puncture wounds. “Don't take this the wrong way,” I continue, “but you don't look so well. Where have you been for the past week?”
“Don't defy him,” she replied, her voice starting to crack as tears filled her eyes. “I tried, Chloe. I tried refusing, I tried not giving him what he wanted.” She paused as the first tear ran down her cheek. “He laughed,” she continued, “and then he took it from me anyway. All of it and more. And then he did it again and again, 'til I knew I could never deny him again. You can't trust me, Chloe. Whatever friendship we had before, please don't think you can trust me now, because whatever he tells me to do, I won't be able to stop myself.”
Suddenly I heard another loud banging sound in the hallway, and this time the door rattled in its frame. I turned and looked across the dark apartment, before turning back to Belinda.
“He can't come in unless he's invited,” she sobbed, backing toward the window. “I'm okay, I've been here before, but he needs to be specifically invited. That doesn't mean you can keep him out forever, though. He told me you'd resist, and he gave me a message for you.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I told her, “or who you're talking about, but I think we need to get you some help. You've obviously been through a lot.”
“He was there that night,” she continued. “I didn't know it at the time, but he showed me later. He was watching us while we were out, he was following you and then he realized he could use me to get to you.” She paused, watching the hallway with wide, terrified eyes. “If I hadn't been out with you, he never would have even noticed me. This is your fault.” Backing away even further, she bumped against the wall. “It's your fault, Chloe. It's your fault he did this to me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, still not understanding what she was talking about. “Who did what to you? Are you on drugs?”
I flinched as I heard another, even louder knock on the door.
“He did it,” she whispered.
“Did what?” I asked, trying not to panic. “Belinda, who's out there?”
She stared at me for a moment, before reaching down and starting to unbutton her shirt. I was about to ask what she was doing, when I realized I could see a thick scar running vertically down her chest, as if she'd been cut open from her neck all the way down to her belly. Black metal stitches had been used to tie the reddened edges of flesh together, although I could see some kind of translucent moisture glistening in the gaps.
“He came and found me in the mortuary,” she stammered. “He killed me in the alley, and then he let them cut me open on the slab, and then he came back for me. He could have come for me sooner, but I think he wanted me to feel this. And it hurts, Chloe. It really hurts.”
Staring at the wound, I still couldn't quite believe what I was seeing.
“Belinda...”
“Look!” she shouted, turning her head to the right and indicating the two scabs on her neck. “Don't you get it, Chloe? He killed me, and then he turned me into this thing!” She paused, before taking a step toward me. “I'm so sorry. I hope one day you'll be able to forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” I asked, as I heard yet another bump against the door. “For what?”
“For what I'm about to do,” she replied, with fresh tears in her eyes. “I told you, Chloe. I can't resist him. I can't deny him anything. And I know what he wants me to do right now, so...”
“Belinda, wait! What -”
Before I could finish, she grabbed me and threw me across the room, sending me slamming into the wall with enough force to almost knock me out. Slithering to the ground, I felt as if every bone in my body was vibrating. When I tried to ge
t up, however, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
“I'm sorry,” Belinda continued, stepping past me and heading to the hallway. “If you won't invite him in, then I'll just have to do it myself.”
Gasping, I rolled onto my side and started crawling toward the counter. I knew my phone was up there, and I was beyond the point of giving Belinda the benefit of the doubt. I had no idea what had happened to her, but I could only assume that she was high on some kind of drug. Reaching the counter, I pushed through the pain in my chest and began to haul myself up, frantically trying to locate my phone. All I knew was that I had to call the police.
“I tried,” I heard Belinda saying in the hallway, as the front door creaked open. “I'm sorry. I guess he was right.”
Letting out a cry of pain, I finally found my phone and slumped back down onto the floor. Not even daring to look over at the front door, I rolled onto my side and unlocked the screen before starting to enter the number for the emergency services. That, at least, I remembered from the time I went into my neighbor's apartment.
“Chloe,” a voice said suddenly.
A man's voice, towering over me.
I froze, with only one digit of the number entered so far.
“Look at me, Chloe,” the voice continued. “I've been sent to help you. Someone cares very much about your well-being, and he wants to see you.”
“I'm sorry, Chloe,” Belinda sobbed, a little further away. “Please don't hate me. It's just... I can't fight back. I can't stand in his way. You'll understand soon. What he wants, he takes.”
Still not daring to turn and look, I tapped another digit into my phone. My hands were trembling, and I was feeling an increasing sense of pressure in my chest. After a moment, however, I realized that although someone was speaking to me, the only sound I could really hear was the same high-pitched whistling sound I'd heard several times since the night Belinda had died. I winced as I felt a stinging sensation in my ears, and then suddenly something touched my shoulder.
I turned and looked up, and I saw the darkest, angriest eyes staring back down at me.
